Mr. Glowie 2.0 Is The Name Of The Computer You've All Been IMing Me About, To Clarify
Why do I sometimes come off as aloof? It's because I'm too busy forming emotional attachments to THINGS that I don't have any room left in me for people. It's sad, I know, but there it is.
Upon discovering my apartment had been broken into over Thanksgiving Break, my first thought was panic for the state of my computer. Not because if it'd been stolen or broken I'd be internetless; the internet in this place has gone out far too often for me to be thrown off so terribly anymore. It is because my computer has a soul, and NO ONE HAD BETTER HURT MY BABY. Or take it, for that matter. Also, let's discuss all the music I have stored on here -- the music that, yes, I attach feelings too. Memories even, sometimes. Okay, often. All the old papers I've attached myself too, and all the all-nighters I pulled to get them done. All that sacrifice, I really have no choice BUT to feel.
And it's not just my computer. And it's not just computers in general, although Mr. Glowie 2.0 holds a special and fond place in my heart and HOW COULD YOU MAKE HIM YOUR SECOND PLACE COMPUTER, YOU EVIL MAN. Sorry for the outburst. See? Emotions all over the place, staining everything, dripping and pooling into puddles on the floor. But I have intense loyalty to Glowie that brings the irrationality burbling up. Do I really think Art is evil? No. Well. Awesomely evil in my favor, yes, occasionally. But when I got that phone call and he told me his plans for Glowie, it hurt me inside. Really. Physical pain, a tightness in my chest. For the feelings of a computer -- the shame and the slight of an inanimate object.
Do not even get me started on what happened when my mother proposed I toss all my childhood toys.
Is this a sickness? Is it curable? Do I even want to cure it? But the oddest thing about this -- really, the thing I cannot explain, but that points boldly and glaringly to my complicated, layered, terribly difficult self, is that I am a Tosser. I like throwing things away. In fact, I remember back to a seemingly distant past where I had to be taught how to keep my memories. How to save those Denny's receipts and those envelopes and those...well. It doesn't matter. But I wonder if there's a pattern lurking somewhere that dictates what I can toss away and what I struggle to hold onto no matter what. I do both with equal alacrity.
Upon discovering my apartment had been broken into over Thanksgiving Break, my first thought was panic for the state of my computer. Not because if it'd been stolen or broken I'd be internetless; the internet in this place has gone out far too often for me to be thrown off so terribly anymore. It is because my computer has a soul, and NO ONE HAD BETTER HURT MY BABY. Or take it, for that matter. Also, let's discuss all the music I have stored on here -- the music that, yes, I attach feelings too. Memories even, sometimes. Okay, often. All the old papers I've attached myself too, and all the all-nighters I pulled to get them done. All that sacrifice, I really have no choice BUT to feel.
And it's not just my computer. And it's not just computers in general, although Mr. Glowie 2.0 holds a special and fond place in my heart and HOW COULD YOU MAKE HIM YOUR SECOND PLACE COMPUTER, YOU EVIL MAN. Sorry for the outburst. See? Emotions all over the place, staining everything, dripping and pooling into puddles on the floor. But I have intense loyalty to Glowie that brings the irrationality burbling up. Do I really think Art is evil? No. Well. Awesomely evil in my favor, yes, occasionally. But when I got that phone call and he told me his plans for Glowie, it hurt me inside. Really. Physical pain, a tightness in my chest. For the feelings of a computer -- the shame and the slight of an inanimate object.
Do not even get me started on what happened when my mother proposed I toss all my childhood toys.
Is this a sickness? Is it curable? Do I even want to cure it? But the oddest thing about this -- really, the thing I cannot explain, but that points boldly and glaringly to my complicated, layered, terribly difficult self, is that I am a Tosser. I like throwing things away. In fact, I remember back to a seemingly distant past where I had to be taught how to keep my memories. How to save those Denny's receipts and those envelopes and those...well. It doesn't matter. But I wonder if there's a pattern lurking somewhere that dictates what I can toss away and what I struggle to hold onto no matter what. I do both with equal alacrity.
posted by juxtaposer at 4:06 PM
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